Runic Nights
by Cyberwolf
Summary: It grew out of the elevator challenge. A story about werewolves, and men, and other things of the night.
1. Pertho

_And his eyes have all the seeming  
Of a demon's that is dreaming,  
And the lamplight o'er him streaming  
Throws his shadow on the floor,  
And my soul from out that shadow,  
That lies floating on the floor,  
Shall be lifted--nevermore.  
_- Poe, The Raven (st. 18)

* * *

They watched each other from opposite corners, staying as far apart as was possible in the elevator. Two pairs of wary blue eyes, hands near the places where weapons would have hung – only that, because of situations like this, Cavalry Command had instituted a total weapons ban. Technically they were no longer enemies. But the habits and enmities of years could not be forgotten because of a piece of paper and a few scribbled signatures. 

The elevator lurched to a stop. Jesse stumbled as he lost his balance, throwing out a hand against the steel wall. He was mildly annoyed to see that Saber hadn't lost _his_ balance – hadn't even uncrossed his arms. The two soldiers stared at the red light blinking on the control-panel.

"The power's out," Jesse commented.

It was a wholly unnecessary observation – but he made it anyway. There was something in the tense set of Saber's jaw, the flicker of…_something_ in his eyes, that intrigued the Outrider lieutenant.

"It's been a bad week for you, hasn't it?" Jesse said, mockingly. Now it was his turn to casually lean against the wall, watching curiously as Saber stalked across the elevator.

Every jerky step broadcasted the taller man's sudden agitation. He stood in front of the control-panel, fists clenched, glaring down at the lights and buttons as if they had insulted him personally.

"I mean, first they dismantle your _precious_ Ramrod…"

Saber began to jab at the buttons on the panel, hard and fast and almost convulsively. A few other warning lights began to shine beside the first red diode.

"And then you have to play nice with us – that must rankle you something _fierce_, huh, Tin Star?"

Now Saber was concentrating all his efforts on one button, pressing it so hard that Jesse half-wondered if the thing would just up and stick into its socket.

He went on, in the same mocking, derisive voice, "…canceled leave… CC's going to slash their budgets…and they even made you leave your pigsticker at home."

He sighed, sardonically deep. "Sucks to be you."

"Shut the bloody hell UP, Blue!"

Saber whirled, so suddenly that Jesse straightened in reflex and actually tried to back into his corner. He stared in vague shock at the Highlander snarling at him. Even when he was new-come to the Academy, and Saber was only a fourth-year cadet, not yet a New Frontier legend, everyone had been commenting on how hard it was to shake the boy's famous composure. All throughout his strange relationship with the Star Sheriffs, he'd never seen Saber so unhinged as he was now.

And for what?

The tableau held for several eternities, and Jesse was surprised to find that his heart was pounding in his chest. In a few seconds, Saber had schooled his face back into blandness. His eyes gleamed weirdly in the harsh emergency lighting.

Saber broke the stare first, brusquely turning his head away. He began to pace across the length of the elevator, his head bowed, his steps hurried and violent. Jesse opened his mouth to speak, couldn't, found he had to lick his dry lips.

"What's eating you, Rider?"

Saber froze in mid-step, his head coming up slowly. He gazed blankly at some point on the elevator's ceiling and began to laugh – a strange, hollow sort of laugh. The hairs on the back of Jesse's neck stood up. He began to wish, very fervently, that he had his pistol with him. Or, better yet, that he safely ensconced within the cockpit of his Badlander. The fact that Saber was similarly unarmed was of little comfort.

Saber resumed his restless pacing, still chuckling oddly under his breath. Jesse had moved away from the wall, shifting into a combat stance. He tracked the other man with his eyes, always making sure he was in Jesse's direct line of sight. Memories of old classes about combat-induced mental illnesses – what the soldiers called _'See-me's',_ bucking for a mental-health discharge – began to float to the front of his mind.

Saber suddenly stopped pacing, and Jesse tensed for action. But all the blond Star Sheriff did was stare into space, almost dreamily, eyes glazed as though he was looking at something very far away.

"It's almost time," he mumbled, as if to himself. Slowly, he swung his gaze round to stare at Jesse.

"You need to get out of here, Blue."

Jesse couldn't agree more. But he could see no way out of the elevator – the air vents were too small to fit even a child, and there were no access hatches. The elevators had been designed so that CC would be protected from Outrider incursion. Kinda funny that now they wouldn't protect an Outrider from a CC operative.

Jesse startled as Saber suddenly dug his fingers into the thin hairline crack between the elevator doors. With a wheezing creak, followed by the ear-jarring rasp of metallic parts scraping over each other, Saber began to force the doors open. Jesse stared in blank astonishment. The doors were constructed from massive slabs of eight-inch-thick valethium, the densest metal known to either Outriders or humans. They should have weighed at least three tons each.

So how was that damned Rider moving them?

The lights blinked on again, distracting Saber from his task. Both of them looked around, almost wildly, as the power came back on. Jesse saw an expression of deep relief cross his rival's face, and wondered at the sheer intensity of the emotion. The doors Saber had been forcing open slammed together again.

Saber spun around as a repetitive pounding began. "What?! No!" he shouted, and began to hammer at the doors with his fists. An artificial female voice informed them, in a voice too soft and pleasant for Jesse's nerves right now, _"Magnetic locks have been engaged. Please remain in the elevator until certified CC personnel have released you. This is for your own safety."_

She repeated the message in two other languages – Jesse thought he recognized a little Spanish, but was lost as to what the other was – before the power cut again.

Even the emergency lights failed to turn back on. Jesse cursed under his breath and fished around for the penlight he kept in his pockets. He'd had to argue with a bunch of CC Security who were sure it was some sort of insidious Outrider weapon, but he was very glad now he'd taken the trouble.

He flicked it on, and then took an involuntary step backwards as two points in the darkness flared at the same time. He looked closer, and found that they were only Saber's eyes, reflecting the flashlight's gleam.

The Star Sheriff had slid down the wall to a sitting position, resting his arms on top of his knees and letting his head droop. Every inch of him portrayed immense exhaustion.

He looked up at Jesse, and the look in his blue eyes – turned an odd yellow color by the flashlight – was a mixture of weariness and apology. And Jesse, with a sick sinking feeling, wondered what he was apologizing _for. _

"I'm sorry, Jesse."

He'd used his first name.

Okay, now was the time to conclude that something _very bad_ was about to happen. Jesse backed himself as far away as he could, as quickly as he could, from the slumping Star Sheriff.

Wait…he wasn't slumping…

He was _changing. _

Jesse stared in horrified fascination. Because it _was_ fascinating, not really very ugly at all – and in a way, that was _worse_. It was like looking at the flashing orange dance of flames, and not understanding that it was going to burn you to ashes – or, knowing it would, but so enthralled that you no longer cared. Something inside Jesse yammered at him to go _away! Away! Now! Nownownownownow…_

But he couldn't listen. Where _could_ he go, anyway?

* * *

When Jesse Blue disappeared from Yuma, the peace talks came to a screeching halt. Most of CC could not honestly say that they were terribly disappointed – not because they were opposed to a ceasefire, but because no one had really believed that the talks would succeed. 

They doubted that Blue had really come to any harm. Probably, they complained to each other, he had sneaked off-world in order to give the Outriders an excuse to stop the talks. And now he'd first-hand knowledge, _updated_ knowledge, of Yuma's defenses. And they'd dismantled Ramrod, one of CC's best weapons in the war.

So, they did not search very hard, at the Admiral's request, for Blue's body. He was still alive, and probably scheming in the Vapour Zone, the traitor.

There really was no sign of him. He hadn't been caught by the surveillance systems at all. He hadn't left so much as a fingerprint on any of the ways down to the main exits. And there were no tracks to indicate he had left the base on foot.

So they shrugged, and returned to base, and began to again prepare for upcoming battles.

* * *

And something sang to the night, crying like the empty winds.

* * *

**AN**

This elevator challenge - I looked it up after reading Claudia's excellent fic - was exactly what I needed to jump over my writer's block. Not that it's a very witty fic, mind. (looks apologetic) There isn't that much dialogue. Sorry. But I wanted to try writing something different, and so... (shrugs)

If Saber can be a vampire, why not this? I love werewolves. Not the Hollywood type, but the ones in stories and legends and stuff. :P  
  
Title comes from the Runic alphabet. **_Pertho_**, the fourteenth rune of the Futhark, stands for **Cup **_(Hidden Mysteries or Transformation_). Thought it fit.


	2. Nauthiz

**Nauthiz** (_Need_), **Rune of the Third Aettir of Heimdall**

Resistance leading to strength, innovation, need-fire (self-reliance);  
Distress, confusion, conflict, and the power of will to overcome them;  
Endurance, survival, determination;  
Recognition of one's fate.  
Major self-initiated change.  
Facing fears.

**Nauthiz Reversed**

Constraint of freedom, distress, toil, drudgery, laxity.  
Necessity, extremity, want, deprivation, starvation, need, poverty, emotional hunger.

****

_

* * *

_

The white crescent moon  
_Eternally looking down at the city  
__Behind these blue eyes of mine  
__The demon inside has been awakening  
__In this sinful earth  
__Believing, dreaming  
__We are searching for the place where the soul descends_

**-Rakuen no Tobira**, Matantei Loki Ragnarok OP

* * *

The wolf had come to him when he was very young.

The wolf had come to him when he was very young, so he could not remember it. Sometimes, when floating in that hazy state just between sleep and awareness, a jumble of impressions came to him that he thought might be his memory of the event. But he was never sure if it was truth, or if it was imagery thrown up by his own imagination, or if it was something else entirely.

A gray dawning – the chilled scent of the wind and of the rain within it – the long blades of the moor-grasses waving, rustling, edged in silver-gray frost - a long, faint keening that may have been the wind, or may have been the howl of a dying animal – the wind rushing past him, tousling hair and making eyes tear- the scratching, gasping ache of lungs starved for breath as he ran - and one great golden eye peering at him.

Never any memory of the bite, though he knew it must have come, and he knew where – the ragged white circle marked the skin of his right shoulder. Little traceries like streamers of silver flame wandered off the edges of the ring of scar. It grew apace with him, so that it never seemed any smaller when he traced it with the fingertips of a wondering hand. The scar had faded, until people could not see it even when they knew it was there (those were few) - but he always knew where it lay on his skin.

It was possible he dreamed a fuller account of that day. If so, however, he never recalled it when he waked.

* * *

At first, he and the wolf had been as one. A small child and a young wildling are very similar, if not the same thing. Their view of the world had been the simple view of the primal first – they wanted and needed on a basic level. They avoided hurtful things if they could – if not, they fought it. When they were hungry, they looked for food. When they were tired, they flopped down on the softest, warmest place in the vicinity, and slept deeply and well. He used both forms as blithely as an adult uses both hands – and would have no more entertained the thought of remaining long in one than a man contemplates tying his hand behind his back for the day.

But then they grew.

The boy, who was a lord and a member of a civilized race, learnt of deceit, and lies, and the false smile that masks the dagger. He learnt the way of speaking with words that were drenched in more meaning than the definitions ascribed to them, and to interpret when others used words thus. He learnt the rule of law, which says that one must not do certain things even if he can – and, what is more important, even if he desires. He learnt of honor, which binds a soul in invisible fetters and condemns many – and, if satisfied, be a greater matter than anything he could get for himself. In a word, he learnt the many subtleties of man.

And he learnt to be ashamed of the wolf.

So he caged the wolf – walled and locked it away with the sheer force of his will. He held himself with ruthless and exacting restraint, everyday further refining his control so that he never did anything without fully intending to – so that he never betrayed himself by sudden starts, or expression, or passions. As a child, he had run so wild as to be the talk of distant places; as a youth, he was so self-disciplined, so faultless a young soldier and student and son, that yet again they spoke of him.

And the wolf hated it, hated everything and everyone with an increasing savagery. It raged unceasingly. No matter how much he honed his self-control, the wolf always matched it, rising ferocity for greater discipline. There was now a darkness to the wolf that had never been in him before - whether it was a product of his suppression, or whether it would have come regardless, he was not sure.

So, another reason to rein the wolf in. And this he did with cold, unswerving perfection. Day followed day without the wolf touching the outside world. Except….

Except that the wolf had yet twelve nights in the year that were still his own, twelve nights when he reigned, savage lord of the savage wilds. He had long since stopped trying to hold it back on these nights – for, will he or nil he, the shifting would come, drawn by a catalyst ancient and compelling.

When the moon shone white and full in the night-sky, the wolf resumed existence in the physical plane – no longer a prisoner, snarling and impotent, within a man's mind, but supremely and simply itself, _being_ with a primeval intensity that had been lost to the other race. On these nights, the man was less than the wolf had been during the other nights and the days. He could not even rage against the wolf as the wolf raged against him.

Because that was his other deep shame, twin and parallel to his shame for the wolf. He was shamed that though he had taught himself to hate the wolf, as civilization demanded, he could not forget that he loved the wolf. He loved it still, with the simple devotion of a child who cannot imagine doing aught else – hated himself for caging the wolf as much as he hated the wolf for requiring it. Love and hate were wound up in each other, twining round like strands of thread, until he was not sure where one ended and the other began.

So he did not begrudge the wolf these twelve nights. He did not cry out in protest when it ran wild and free through whatever lands they found themselves in. He did not even begrudge the gashings and wounds the wolf gave him when it sensed the shift drawing near, gnawing on its own limbs and dashing itself against walls and rocks for the knowing that the man would have to bear the wounds. And it was not even for the fact that they would heal swift – the healings always came as painful as the wounds. He accepted the wounds as his due, a sort of guilt-justice.

And part of that guilt was that he reveled in these nights just as the wolf did. That these nights were a breaking of cages for him as well, of the cage of restraint and control he had built himself. And that these nights, the terrible joy of his freedom, were all that kept him sane and controlled during the days, when he battled others and himself and never had rest or relief.

Those nights were his freedom as well.

* * *

**Random Author Notes**

Completed **September 26, 2004**

Probably the first fic I completed since coming to Canada. :D The writing style is heavily influenced by Frank Herbert's _Dune_ series and Judith Tarr's _Avaryan Rising._ In a way that's too bad – I wanted to try writing less long-windedly, with less-run-on sentences, like in the first chapter of this series.

Yes, _series._ Isn't that funny? The thing ought to have ended with the first chapter, the elevator challenge, which was _supposed_ to be just Saber and Jesse and dealing with claustrophobia. I had been planning a werewolf fic – it's strange that someone who likes wolves as much as I do hasn't yet produced a wolf-centric story, _I _think – and it _insisted_ on going into the story. In vain I argued about a one-shot. The wolves simply would not change their minds.

This chapter dedicated to **Claudia** and her crows and wolves, and her influence in getting me to actually put my thoughts to paper (or computer screen, as the case may be...) ;;

Soundtrack

-_Scarborough__ Fair_, Celtic Chillout

-_Rakuen no Tobira_, Whitebound, Matantei Loki Ragnarok OP

-_Track 16_, CD 2, of the Chrono Cross OST

-_A Child Is Born_, Barbara Streisand, Disney's For Our Children

-_Tell Me What The Rain Knows_, Maaya Sakamoto, Wolf's Rain OST


	3. Uruz

**Uruz** (_Auroch_)** Rune of the First Aettir of Freyr**

Physical strength and speed, untamed potential.  
Freedom, energy, action, courage, strength, tenacity.  
Sudden or unexpected changes (usually for the better).  
Sexual desire, masculine potency.  
The shaping of power and pattern, formulation of the self.

**Uruz Reversed**

Weakness, obsession, misdirected force, domination by others.  
Lust, brutality, rashness, callousness, violence.

_

* * *

Come with me in the twilight of a summer night for awhile  
Tell me of a story never told in the past  
Take me back to the land  
Where my yearnings were born  
The key to open the door is in your hands  
Now fly me there, to the land of twilight_  
** -Key to the Twilight, .hackSIGN

* * *

**

The sun sets.

The sun sets, and he watches it from half-lidded eyes. He is slumped against the wall, head lolling backwards. One leg, bent at the knee, is drawn up to his chest; the other extends straight out ahead of him. It is a position of careless, sprawling, unthinking ease; one he would not take if there were others to see.

His right hand holds a bottle in a loose grip – brandy, good aged brandy, amber-glowing in the sunset light. He brought it with him from the Highlands, from the wine-cellars of his ancestral home. He raises the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull - it slides sweet and smooth down his throat like honey, like liquid satin, like perfect ice; but it burns hot as fire in his belly.

The walls are bare; nothing mars the pristine blankness of the white paint. The only interruptions in the long stretch are long transparent rectangles, set somewhat higher up than normal – windows of clearsteel, proofed against weapons but allowing him spectacular views. The few times his friends had come to his quarters, comments on the stark minimalism of it had followed. It was sleek, they allowed, but so austere that they could not understand why he had bothered leaving the BOQ back at Command. They give him presents to decorate his room, posters and picture-frames and flatscreen displays; he smiles, and thanks them, and puts them all into the bottom drawer of his dresser.

The bare wall acts like a blank canvas for the light. The entirety of the wall he leans on has turned flame-colored from the sun; the light splashes across him too. His eyes are lenses, reflecting gold. At some point the light is no longer in his eyes, and their golden quality is a matter entirely of his own.

The moon rises, and a wolf stands in its rays.

It is a large animal, deep of chest and powerfully-limbed. A mountain-hunter, this, built to take down the largest and most dangerous of prey, alone if need be. The coat is a pale gray, almost silver, lightening to a snowy white at the belly and throat. The wolf's height is easily three and a half feet at the shoulder, and six feet from muzzle to tail; on its hind legs, it would top most men by a head. White fangs and claws gleam in the moonlight as the gray wolf moves in awakening; it snarls at the empty air, and lets its jaws snap closed with a sharp '_snickt'_. It is the sound of intense force.

The gray pads over to a window; it rears up onto its hind legs and sets its paws against the wall. An unstoppered bottle of whiskey rolls on the ground, knocked over by a careless tail-brush, and creates a puddle of alcohol on the polished floor – the wolf does not notice. Whining with suppressed eagerness, it touches its nose to the glass like a puppy nuzzling at a new toy. Biometric sensors set into the wall register the wolf's presence, and the window slides open.

The wolf drops back to all fours, crouches, and leaps – it lands on the slightly angled window-sill as neatly as a cat. A twilight breeze swirls around the gray, ruffling its fur slightly – it raises its nose and drinks in the scents that come with the wind.

The wind sings of the world that awaits the gray wolf; of water, running in brooks and streams and gathering in little pools where fish play; of cool damp earth on the forest-floors, rich with mulch and aerated by the actions of tiny worms; of the sharp scent of evergreen woods, where green needles carpet the ground and gray-dapple shadows make everything secretive. This place is not _its_ world, but it is very like. And the gray had run here before, many times before. To run again would be good.

It leaps, a long limber streak of silver in the twilight. It is time to hunt.


End file.
